


Don't Think So Hard

by BlaiddGwyn (dragonLeighs)



Series: Nilfgaard Prison AU [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Altered Mental States, Gen, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Has a Bad Time, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, Mind Manipulation, Mind Reading, Nilfgaardian Prison au, Psychological Torture, Torture, Yennefer and Geralt are kinda in this, let's put it that way, lost sense of reality, mentions of injury, tbh i'm not actually sure how to tag this so those last two may not be particularly relevant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-18 20:47:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29988609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonLeighs/pseuds/BlaiddGwyn
Summary: Jaskier didn't think it could get much worse. He'd already spent weeks in this hellhole that Nilfgaard called a prison. His body was a mess of torn skin and broken bones but despite their best efforts, he refused to give up any information. He's lasted this long, why give up now?As usual he's taken away to be tortured yet again. But this time is different. This time they're attacking his mind.
Series: Nilfgaard Prison AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2205903
Comments: 4
Kudos: 35





	Don't Think So Hard

**Author's Note:**

> So there's actually a much bigger fic I'm currently working on and this kinda happened by accident to help me flesh out one of the chapters, but I think it's good enough to be a fic on it's own. Becuase I wrote this with a bigger fic in mind, some things may seem to lack context but all you really need to know is that Jaskier is having a very not good time. The vast majority of this is self-contained.
> 
> Please mind the tags, but also let me know if something should be added or changed. I'm not entirely sure how to tag it.
> 
> Title taken from don't think so hard by On Planets.

Jaskier was jolted out of his fitful rest by the clank of the lock releasing in the door. He had hoped he'd have a little longer to rest before they came back for him. Distantly he knew it was sad that he had become so used to it by now, the seemngly endless cycle of torture becoming a part of his daily routine. Still, wallowing in his misery wouldn’t help anyone, so he did what he was best at and made a nuisance of himself.

“I was beginning to wonder if you were ever going to turn up,” he said, pushing himself to sit upright on his good arm as the guards entered the damp cell. Somehow, he managed to keep the fear out of his voice, sounding as though he were joking with his friends from Oxenfurt, and not two men who were about to drag him away.

“Shut it,” growled the bigger of the two guards.

“Nah, you’d miss my beautiful voice,” Jaskier said back. He was sure he heard a snort from Yennefer who was sitting against the opposite wall. He didn’t look at her. He didn’t want to see whatever pitying look she gave him as he was yet again forcibly removed from the cell.

The man didn’t appreciate his banter apparently and smacked him across the face. The impact was hard enough to whip his head around. He barely felt it, acknowledging the sting, but his body otherwise ignoring the lingering, dull ache of the impact, very much merging into the background of pain that was his existence.

“Well, that’s not very nice,” he mumbled, rubbing at the spot on his cheek. He would surely have a hand shaped bruise there if his face wasn’t already a complete mess.

He didn’t get a chance to say much else, the soldiers coming forward to grab an arm each, hauling him to his feet. Or at least they would have had Jaskier been able to stand.

Instead, he did his best to bite back a cry at his broken knee being moved. The rest of his injuries paled in comparison to the feeling of shards of bone moving under his skin, grinding together against muscle and tendons. It felt like it was being torn up from the inside.

He must have blacked out for a moment since the next thing he was aware of was being led down the now familiar stone hallways toward what he called the torture room. It wasn’t a particularly creative title, he knew, but it was accurate.

He dreaded what would befall him today. Would it be another day of being beaten to a pulp? Or perhaps they would cut him to pieces with their cruel blades, biting into his flesh and leaving score marks and rivers of crimson in their wake. Maybe they’d make good on their threat to burn his hands and brand his skin, marking him forever. Not that it would matter. It wasn't like he would ever leave this place alive.

His hands were bound with shackles, digging in to the skin already rubbed raw from the countless other times he'd been here. His arms were raised above his head, agony in and of itself witht the sheer number of injuries he had sustained, before being secured to a hook attached to a chain in the ceiling. The chain was then raised up until he could barely keep his toes on the ground. It was almost a mercy with his broken knee, no longer having to try to support his own weight, but it was hell on the shoulder they had dislocated only a week earlier.

He waited for the first blow to come. That was usually how this went, the guards taking turns to hit him like a human punching bag until whatever higher up arrived to do the actual torturing. Much to his surprise, the two men left without saying a word. Well… that was new. It made his heart sink to his stomach. Whatever they were going to do must be truly awful for the soldiers to not want to wait around.

Jaskier was left to stew in his fears for what felt like hours but was probably only minutes. The door swung open and in strode a woman. She was a beautiful as she was terrifying, carrying herself in a way that showed she knew her worth. She must be a mage, lacking any armour or weapons, at least none that he could see anyway. She was dressed instead in grey robes untouched by dirt. He wondered if that was because of magic or if she was just particularly careful at avoiding dirt in this hell hole of a dungeon.

He hadn't realised his attention had wandered until he was snapped back to the present when she spoke, her voice cutting through all other thoughts. “You know the witcher known as Geralt of Rivia, correct?” she said, more a statement than a question. Jaskier said nothing, doing his best to look disinterested. He’d be damned several times over before giving these bastards anything.

She sighed. “This would be so much easier if you just answered my questions.” She strode toward him, slowly, purposefully. He felt like a mouse being stalked by a tiger, powerless to escape, pinned in place by her piercing gaze alone, never mind the chains. She came to a stop just in front of him.

“Last chance, before things get messy.”

He couldn’t help but laugh at that. His life had been a living nightmare for the past several weeks. There was nothing she could do to make it any worse. “Piss off,” he said.

“Very well. You’ve made your choice.” Her hand came up to grip the side of his head, too tightly. He tried to break free but there was nowhere he could go. She said something in elder that he didn’t quite catch, a sudden rush of chaos running through his body making him shiver and the world went black.

* * *

“Jaskier? Come on bard, wake up.”

Jaskier cracked open his eyes to stare up at the ceiling. Sunlight flooded the room. He wasn’t in the cell. He tentatively sat up, a hand on his arm helping him. He looked to his left to see Yennefer sitting there at his bedside. She looked surprisingly well, no sign of the difficult days she had spent in the cell with him, the tendrils of dimeritium poisoning nowhere to be found on the exposed skin of her arms.

“Y-Yen… How… What happened?” he stuttered, trying to wrap his mind around his current situation.

“We’re safe. For now.”

“What happened?”

“I got us out, brought us here.” Her voice sounded strange but he couldn't quite pinpoint why.

“Are you aright?” he asked. The last he knew, she was suffering from several days of dimeritium poisoning. How could she have possibly managed to get free of her chains, escape Nilfgaard and get them both to safety?

She smiled. It looked empty. "I'm fine."

"If you say so. How did you get us out anyway?" he asked, changing the subject swiftly, hoping to chase away the growing sense of unease.

“That’s not important,” she said, brushing him off.

“Where are we?” he asked, hoping to figure out what was going on. He looked around the room, trying to find some clue as to their location. The room was strangely empty which was very unlike Yennefer. She was one to show off her wealth and power, but the room was sparsely furnished, and the walls were a rather boring shade of beige.

“A safe house," she answered simply. "Here." She passed him a cup of water. He took it but didn’t drink. He may be safe, but he didn’t quite trust whatever was going on. “Listen, Jaskier, this is important. I need you to tell me if you have any idea where Geralt might be.”

He eyed her with suspicion. “Shouldn’t you already know that? What with your magic and all.” He wiggled his fingers in a poor imitation of casting a spell. It always got a rise out of her in the past. Instead she just kept looking at him.

“Escaping took all my energy.”

“Why do you need to know anyway?”

“Nilfgaard is after him and his child surprise. I need to warn him.”

He watched her carefully as she spoke. Something was wrong with this whole situation. It felt like watching someone imitating the mage. She looked normal and her voice sounded like herself, but there was a spark of life that seemed to be missing. And it wasn’t just because of exhaustion. The look in her eyes was almost dead. Even in the cell, she had never been missing that determination to cling on to life, even if the only motivation to do so was spite.

“No… Yen, something’s wrong here. What really happened?”

Instead of answering, she sighed, looking at him like he was the world’s biggest disappointment. “We’ll have to start again.”

Before he could ask what she meant, the world faded to black.

* * *

Jaskier woke to the sounds of birds singing and the wind rustling in the trees. There was a slight breeze that cut through the thin blanket wrapped around him. He pulled it tighter around himself, hoping to chase away some of the chill. It didn’t help.

“You awake?” asked a familiar voice.

Jaskier cracked his eyes open to see Yennefer. They were in a clearing a forest, a small fire burning bright in the centre.

“Yen?" he croaked, his voice still rough from sleep.

"It's about time. You've been out for hours." She sounded relieved, if a little annoyed.

"What's going on? How did we escape?”

“You don’t remember?” she asked, concern colouring her voice.

He shook his head, pushing himself upright on shaking arms. “The last thing I remember was being taken out of the cell.”

“I got us out while they were distracted with you. Portalling us here took everything I had left.”

“Will they come for us?”

“I hope not. We need to find Geralt. He can help us.”

“Why would Geralt want to help us?”

“He still loves me, does he not? And he’ll help you out if I insist on it. He’s a bastard but he isn’t cruel.”

Her words sounded almost hostile and he couldn’t help but curl into himself a little. He was still cold so he shuffled closer to the fire. It didn’t help. He couldn barely feel the heat of it on is face even though he was practically sitting in it.

“Where would Geralt go?” Yennefer asked.

He didn’t reply, watching her carefully instead. Her eyes seemed to bore into him, like she was trying to unearth his darkest secrets.

“Tell me, Jaskier. The sooner we find him, the sooner we’ll be safe.”

He felt a growing sense of dread. This was wrong. The fire had no warmth and Yennefer was… off somehow, though he couldn’t place it.

“Jaskier,” she almost growled. A warning. He only shook his head, bringing his knees up to his chest as though he could protect himself from whatever sat across from him. And wasn't that strange, that he could move his leg with only mild discomfort and not the searing agony of a shattered knee. Still, he was in no state to run, and he doubted he would get far even if he could.

“Fine,” she said as the forest began to melt away.

* * *

“Wake up, bard.” He hadn’t heard that voice in months but it was painfully familiar.

“G-Geralt?” he mumbled, still half asleep. He blinked his eyes open only to screw them shut again as he was assualted with blinding light.

“Get up. We have to go,” the witcher said instead of replying.

“Go? Where?” He pulled himself the rest of the way into full consciousness, blearily taking in his surroundings. They were in a room in an inn, not that he could recall arriving here. Or much of what happened before. Geralt was methodically stuffing things in a pack, his back turned to him.

“Geralt, where are we?”

“What do you mean? We’re in the inn. How much did you drink last night?” His tone made it obvious he thought him an idiot for even asking.

“What? No, I- I don't remember.”

“Don't remember what?" Geralt asked, still focussed on his task.

“Anything.”

Geralt finally put down the bag he was packing and turned to face Jaskier. “What do you mean "anything"? You’re not still drunk are you?”

“No! And I mean I don't remember getting here. I don't even know where "here" is!” he insisted. He was trying not to get worked up, knowing Geralt would only get annoyed with his antics, but there was a massive gap in his memory. And he was definitely not drunk.

“Jaskier, calm down would you.” He put one of his large hands on Jaskier’s arm, possibly in an attempt to ground him. It only made his rising panic worse. Geralt’s touch felt wrong. The witcher was practically a furnace at all times of the year thanks to his raised metabolism but there was barely any warmth in his hand. Jaskier tried to pull away but probably-not-actually-Geralt only held on tighter.

“What’s wrong this time?” he asked, his voice now holding a barely concealed threat. “Do I not look right? Or did I talk too much?”

Jaskier only struggled harder to escape the tight grip on his arm. “What- what’s going on? Please let me go.”

With a grunt, not-Geralt did as he was asked, releasing his arm as the room dissolved.

* * *

Jaskier found himself stumbling through deep snow drifts. He had no recollection of how he got here. Just ahead of him was Yennefer, trudging her way through the snow, determined to get to… somewhere.

“Y-Yen?” he asked.

“What is it, bard?” she asked, sounding annoyed. She neither stopped nor turned to face him, her voice barely carrying over the howling wind.

“Where are we?”

“What do you mean “where are we”?”

“I-I don’t know,” he said barely above a whisper. He felt lost, untethered. His body didn’t feel like his own. He was cold but not as cold as he knew he should be. He hurt all over, injuries he knew he had but couldn’t seem to be able to see. He stood still in the knee-deep snow while Yennefer pressed on. He didn’t follow.

“I’ve been here before,” he mumbled, several memories of this snowy pass floating to the forefront of his mind. It was almost déjà vu, save for the fact that he knew this played out in several different ways.

All he hears is Yennefer's sigh carry over the wind before the world disappears.

* * *

He and Yennefer are sitting in a cave, sheltering from the storm raging outside. They had walked on foot all day after escaping and had only just managed to avoid the rain before finding shelter. He doesn’t remember any of this happening before. He hopes this is reality.

It’s Yennefer who breaks the silence in the cave first. Or at least he hopes it’s Yennefer. “Hopefully the storm won’t last. We need to get as far from Nilfgaard as possible.”

They haven’t spoken much since escaping Nilfgaard, too busy getting away as fast as possible. Which wasn't very fast. Jaskier had come to with an arm slung over Yennefer’s shoulders as she had to practically drag him through the forest. She had managed to heal his knee to the point where he could walk on it, but it still hurt to do so. He didn’t know if it was actually healed or if it was just another way to disguise the illusion.

He had kept a close eye on Yennefer all day, watching for any obvious sign this wasn’t real. She looked like Yennefer. Sounded like her too. He doesn’t know how long he’s been trapped but he knows it’s getting harder to tell reality from illusion. They’ve been getting closer and closer to what he thinks is reality and it’s taking him longer and longer to notice the first few times he’s found himself in a new place. After a few repeats however the memories start bleeding through and the scenario changes to something unfamiliar. Every time, he hopes it's reality, and every time so far he's been bitterly disappointed.

She seems lively, or as lively as someone who had been subjected to torture could be. He wonders if he can trust her.

“Tell me about what happened between you and Geralt,” she says. “I know there must be a reason you don’t want to see him again.”

His heart sinks. “I already told you. Back in the cells.”

“No you didn’t,” she said, almost gently. “I know Nilfgaard scrambled your brain, but you didn’t tell me anything about Geralt.”

She had told him earlier he had been dumped back in their shared cell, raving like a madman for several days before she had broken them out. He had no recollection of any of that. Surely she couldn’t know specifically what they had done to him. Or maybe it was still happening.

Jaskier curled into himself. He’s cold and in pain. “I know I told you. I _know_ I did.”

“Tell me again anyway.”

Jaskier only shook his head, refusing to say anything. This isn’t real. Yennefer will get angry and the world will fade to black. Sure enough, the cave melts away.

* * *

Things kept repeating. He knew that now. Initially he would wake up somewhere unfamiliar. Sometimes someone, usually either Yennefer or Geralt, would be there. They would reassure him, tell him he was safe and away from Nilfgaard. At first, he would hesitantly believe them, taking comfort in the fact that he had no memory of this scenario. Maybe he really was safe. It would last a day or two until it became obvious it was just another illusion. Then it would repeat several times, each recurrence slightly different from the last until he caught on that this was fake almost as soon as he opened his eyes. Then he would be somewhere new, and the cycle would repeat.

It was getting harder to tell the difference between the real people and the impostors that talked to him. They had learnt how to speak and act like Yennefer and Geralt, almost a perfect imitation after countless iterations. But they would slip up eventually. Maybe they would ask something he knew they should know, or perhaps they did something that was out of character.

Not-Geralt in particular had been particularly obvious to begin with. Initially he had spoken far too much before going the other way and barely saying anything at all, not even the occasional “hmm”. He appeared far less often than not-Yennefer. She was a much closer match to the real thing making it harder to tell the difference.

He would usually find himself in a cave or some damp inn room in autumn. Whenever he had been “outside” it had been easier to tell that the world around him held no heat. The cold and damp surroundings hid the fact that none of it was real. Apparently whoever was doing this to him couldn’t stop reality from bleeding through. The first few days of the illusion may be able to convince him, but when no one lit a fire or they never went outside in the rain, that was when he began having doubts.

It was the same for his injuries. Not-Yen had initially insisted she’d healed him and that it would take some time for the pain to fade away, but he knew that wasn’t how it worked. Despite not being able to see anything marring his skin, he could still feel the pain of everything that had happened to him, albeit slightly numbed. He now tended to find his injuries half-healed, enough to explain both the inescapable pain and the fact that he could more often than not walk around and do all the things he knew he shouldn't be able to.

He wondered how long he had been trapped like this now. The relatively short amount of time he experienced in each illusion gave him no change to try to gauge the true passage of time. Had he only been here a few hours, or had it been countless weeks?

The only thing he knew for certain was the cold that permeated his bones, even while sitting next to a raging fire.

* * *

“Why are you doing this?” he asked not-Yennefer one time. They were hiding in a cellar somewhere. Apparently, this time Yennefer had gotten them free and portalled them away. A tavern owner had taken pity on them and offered to hide them down here while Nilfgaard were passing through. It was one of the more elaborate situations he had experienced so far. This had already happened several times before.

“I’m not doing anything bard,” not-Yen said, eyes closed and listening for soldiers he knew wouldn’t come.

“I mean all this this,” he said, gesturing to their surroundings. “Why don’t you just reach into my memory and take whatever it is you think I know? Why torture me like this?”

Not-Yen opened her eyes to stare at him then. Her expression became one of boredom, dropping the pretence of being the real Yennefer. “Believe me, I want to. But you wouldn’t survive long enough for me to find what I need to know. The chaos required would kill you almost instantly.”

“So, what,” he huffed, “You trap me inside my own mind, hoping I’ll eventually give in and spill whatever secrets you think I know.”

“Precisely.” Her sinister grin was the last thing he saw before the cellar faded away.

* * *

Jaskier opened his eyes. The Nilfgaardian mage was stood before him, a look of disgust on her face. “He’s useless. Take him back to his cell.” She said before turning her back to him and striding out of the room.

The guards from before came forward and released his hands from the chain keeping his arms suspended. Roughly, they dragged him back to the cells. The entire time he couldn’t help but hope this was finally real. He’d never thought he’d be glad to be back in a cell, but the promise of reality was tantalising.

They guards dumped him on the floor unceremoniously. He had to just lie there for a moment, winded and in pain.

“Jaskier?” Yennefer asked from somewhere to his side.

“Yen,” he croaked, too exhausted fo anything more just yet.

“What did they do to you this time? You were gone for so long.” She sounded genuinely concerned, something he never thought he'd miss.

There was a long pause while Jaskier tried to summon the energy for a conversation. “Some kind of illusion,” he said eventually, not wanting to elaborate much. He gingerly rolled himself over to face her, mindful of his injuries. She looked the same as he remembered her being when he was dragged out of the cell. She was dirty and exhausted and he thought he could just make out the dark lines at the neckline of her dress from the dimeritium poisoning her. They were new. "How long was I gone?" 

“About a week. I was beginning to wonder if you were ever going to come back. What did they do?”

He didn’t want to talk about it. If this was real, he would very much like to leave what happened in the past.

* * *

Two days passed. Yennefer was uncharacteristically quiet, though he couldn’t be sure if it was due to the dimeritium poisoning her or the fact that he was a nervous wreck and she didn’t want to upset him. There was a third option, but he chose to ignore it.

He spent his time either lying down or sitting propped up against the wall directly opposite Yennefer. He didn’t trust his surroundings just yet and besides, he was hurting all over and exhausted. The guards hadn't come back for him, a strange but welcome change of routine.

Yennefer eventually broke the oppressive silence, curiosity eventually winning over her. “Jaskier, what really happened to you?”

“Nothing,” he lied.

Yennefer snorted at that. “So you’re near mute and huddling in a corner because you feel like it? Come on bard, I’m not stupid.”

“Don’t want to talk about it,” he mumbled. He was afraid that by doing so the illusion would be broken. He just couldn’t trust anything was real. By talking Yennefer might indvertantly reveal herself to actually be not-Yennefer. He honestly thought he would rather be stuck in an imitation of this cell than have to face more. At least here he could pretend. And if it turned out to be real then that was just a bonus at this point.

“You didn’t tell her anything, did you?” Yennefer asked after a moment.

His blood turned to ice in his veins. “How did you know it was a woman?”

“Lucky guess,” she shrugged.

Jaskier tried to pay attention to his surroundings, hoping to ground himself against his rising panic. The stone floor he was sitting on was cool, but not cold, not like he knew it probably should be. But he’d been sitting here for days, of course it wouldn’t be as cold. He hurt all over, but he could also see his injuries exactly as he remembered them, something that hadn’t happened in a long time. Or at least he thought it was a long time.

Was this just an illusion he was willfully ignoring, or was he now incapable of knowing what was real any more. He almost wanted to scream but fear seized his lungs. Was this just another part in the mage’s plan. The walls seemed to press in around him and he was distantly aware he had begun shaking, though not from cold.

“Yen, tell me what happened on the mountain,” he gasped out, his voice strained with the effort of simply speaking. She should know this. She was there after all. But not-Yen didn’t know, at least not all of it.

“Why?” she asked, her brows coming together in confusion.

“Please. Just- just tell me.”

“Geralt and I went our separate ways after the dragon hunt,” she said, failing to elaborate.

“Why?”

“I don’t see why this is important, bard.”

“Yen…”

“Because he bound us together against my will.”

It was a vague answer. Too vague to be able to trust. “What happened after?” he pressed, hoping for something solid.

“After what?” she asked, exasperated.

“After you left. Between me and Geralt.”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do.”

She didn’t say anything else after that.

* * *

Jaskier opened his eyes. The Nilfgaardian mage was stood before him.

Again.

And again.

And again.

**Author's Note:**

> The main fic is on it's way! ~~I hope~~.
> 
> Let me know if this was any good. Or just yell at me.
> 
> You can also find me on [tumblr.](https://blaidd-gwyn.tumblr.com)


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